


Now It's Three In The Morning

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Series: Carry On Countdown 2017 [19]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown, Drabble, M/M, Pre-Relationship, deep conversation TM, late nights/early mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13005963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: It's the middle of the night, and Simon has something on his mind.





	Now It's Three In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> These last few days of the Countdown haven't been Snowbaz really, it's all them becoming friends, because I feel like that part of their relationship is equally or more important to the romantic aspect. Day 19: Late nights/early mornings. title from Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? by the Arctic Monkeys.

It’s late, so late that it’s probably really early by now. Baz returned from his secret trip to the Catacombs, the one that he knows I know about, hours ago. I think I was asleep for a while, but I’m not sure. It’s so dark in our room that staring at the ceiling isn’t much different from staring at the backs of my eyelids. Baz isn’t asleep either; he tosses and turns every few minutes. He usually sleeps like the dead, which I suspect has something to do with him being a vampire. 

In any case, we’re both laying here, pretending to sleep in the hopes that if we pretend long enough, it will turn out to be true. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I won’t be sleeping tonight. I’ve got too much on my mind.

“Hey Baz?” I say.

In the dark, in this undefined time, it’s easier to ignore reality. In the light of day, I would never dare say this to Baz. I would never think of it. But now, the darkness is so thick and absolute that I can’t see him where he lays across the room. I can almost imagine I’m not talking to him, that I’m talking to a friend.

“My life’s falling apart,” I confess, “and I don’t know what to do.”

 

***

 

Snow is talking to me. Not just talking to me, he’s telling me something he’s never told anyone. He’s asking me for advice. If anyone else had been there, if this had been in the day, I would have had to keep up the act that we’re enemies. It’s such a good act, even Snow believes it. (But if he believes it, why is he talking to me?)

Normally, I would have said something like “Fuck off,” or “Why should I care,” or “Is that my fucking problem.” Something to ensure that he still hates me, that we keep playing our roles. But here, just on the edge of sleep, the act doesn’t feel necessary anymore.

“What do you mean, Snow? You have everything.” I’m more than a little jealous of him, but I don’t know why. Yes, I do. Because I thought he was happy, and I would give anything to be happy.

“I don’t,” he says. “My magic is defective, and I would’ve flunked out of school last year if I wasn’t the Chosen One. Agatha’s about to leave me, and I don’t even care. I just,” he takes a deep breath, “I can’t help thinking there’s something wrong with me. That that’s why this is happening.”

I’m awful at comforting people, especially if that person is my sworn enemy. Whenever Mordelia or the babies are upset, they go to Daphne. I try, but more often than not I simply make things worse. But here, the worst thing I can think of is staying silent. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Snow.”

He laughs once, sharply. “That’s not what you’ve told me for the last seven years.”

“You’re a better person than I will ever be.” This time of the night makes everything unreal, so I’m not terrified to say that.

“You have everything. Top of the class, star footballer, _everything_. Being a good person doesn’t do anything for me. The Mage is still disappointed in me, the Humdrum is still out there, and being a good person doesn’t change that.” I can hear the defeat in Snow’s voice. I never imagined he could feel like this.

“I’ve always been jealous of you,” I say. “How you can make friends so easily, how you seemed so happy and alive. But I guess that was never really the whole picture, was it?”

“I guess we were both wrong, then,” he says wryly.

I don’t know what to say. I’m seeing a whole new side of Simon, one I doubt even Bunce has seen. It’s thrilling, to be trusted like this. But what I’m learning – my heart hurts for him. If I could, I would reach into his head and take all this pain out. I’d burn it, or hide it away somewhere it could never bother him again.

“You’re going to defeat the Humdrum,” I say. “You’re going to save the world. You, Simon Snow, are a hero. The kind they write books about.”

“Do you really think so?” He asks softly.

“Yeah. I really do.”

A few minutes pass. I think he’s fallen asleep, but I can’t. I lie on my side and watch the slightest hint of morning begin to appear over the horizon. That’s the one perk of Snow always leaving the window open – it’s beautiful out there.

Out of the blue, Simon starts talking again. I don’t know how he knows I’m not asleep. Maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe it’s just something he needs to say, no matter if anyone is truly listening.

“I might be a hero, but that’s in the future. That’s not right now. Now, I’m completely lost in all my classes. I’m watching my relationship fall apart.”

I don’t really mean to speak, but I find myself offering to tutor Snow. “I could help you with class, if you want.”

“Thanks. Even though you’re going to forget about this in the morning.”

I hate to be giving Snow relationship advice. I really do. He’s not the only one watching his relationship fall apart. I’ve been doing that for years, standing on the sidelines with the knowledge that I could love him so much better. But it needs to be said. “I think you need to ask yourself if you can save your relationship, and if you can, whether or not you want to. Because as a nonobjective third party, you two don’t seem the same anymore.”

“Thanks, Baz.” Simon yawns. “Maybe you’re not so terrible after all. G’night.” He rolls over heavily, and I can tell the conversation is over. 

Even if it was in the middle of the night, when time stops and reality suspends itself, this feels like the first step to something. To a truce, or maybe even a friendship. I don’t dare hope for anything more, for what I really want. The sunrise the next morning feels like a challenge: can we keep this fragile, midnight peace, or will we regress to bitter fighting. I know which _I’d_ prefer, but I’ll leave the decision to Snow.


End file.
